Glass Pedestal
by Orifiel
Summary: Stevie Mack traverses a life of public expectation and past controversy in Vault 101, eventually developing a fixation on the young Lone Wanderer during their formative years. He places her on a pedestal of glass, high and shining, but easily shattered. Yet, through the jagged shards, his obsession only grows. Companion piece to "Serpent Code."


**Warning(s):** _Triggering chapters, mental instability, depictions of a manipulative relationship, references to relations with a minor, and emotional and psychological abuse._

 **Setting:** _Fallout 3._

 **A/N:** Companion piece to "Serpent Code." I managed to get Stevie Mack added to the character list on this website, so two years after completing the main story, I decided to finally start writing his backstory in the _Serpent Code_ universe. (It's not pretty.)

x-x-x-x-x

 **\- I -**

 **(2263)**

Stevie Mack dragged himself out of his bedroom, the zipper of his Vault jumpsuit pulled only halfway up as he made his bleary way through the hall and into the tidy living room. Somewhere to the left, his little sister's banshee-like wails drifted from her room, set in a continuous loop despite their mother's soothing tones. He ran his fingers through his short brown hair and yawned, passing by his father seated at the dining table.

"I know you're going to fix your attire before you leave this apartment, Stevie," Allen Mack stated over his cup of coffee, stern voice rising over the noise.

Stevie grumbled and yanked his zipper all the way up to his neck before leaning against the wall by the front door and shutting his eyes, attempting to catch a few more seconds of sleep. The legs of a chair scraped over the linoleum floor, and he heard his father rise from the table to approach him. A sigh escaped his lips as he pried his eyes open again and prepared for the customary cross-examination.

"Straighten up. If you slouch like that, you'll get used to it. No son of mine is going around this Vault looking sloppy," Allen declared, reaching out to fix Stevie's collar. "If you look sloppy, you look weak. If you look weak, you won't get respect."

"You've told me a million times, Dad," the teenager grumped, although he fixed his posture.

"Well, that's apparently not enough because you still haven't listened." Allen stepped back and stroked his black mustache, seemingly searching for something else to criticize. "You'd do well to be more concerned about your standing in the Vault after that incident last year. I'm _still_ doing damage control on your behalf."

Stevie flushed, the heat and humiliation creeping into his cheeks. Glowering off to the side, he muttered, "I thought we weren't gonna talk about that anymore."

"Oh, we're most certainly not. But you should be aware that while the younger generation won't know, the rest of the individuals involved are not going to let it die down so easily."

Searing shame forced its way into Stevie's working memory, and he wrestled with the unwelcome emotion, pushing images of the blowout from his mind.

Meanwhile, Susie's screeching continued at the other side of the apartment.

Stevie scowled and checked the time on his Pip-Boy in an attempt to distract himself from the havoc inside. "What's taking Wally so long to get ready? Mom woke me up just so I could stand here and bleed from the ears?"

"Your sister has a fever. Or so your mother says," Allen replied, frowning. "I expect you to get Wally to his class on time, and then get to yours early."

"What about breakfast?"

"Pick up something from the cafeteria, but don't sit around all morning with that Brotch boy. His father is an upstanding citizen, but Edwin still has a lot of growing up to do. Same as you."

Stevie knew better than to roll his eyes in front of his father, but he inwardly went through the motion whenever Allen tried to instill his sense of superiority in him. Their family ranked second only to the Almodovars, distinguishing them from the other residents of Vault 101. However, given the fact that they lived in a small subterranean community, the status seemed pointless to wear as a badge.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'll grow up plenty after I take the G.O.A.T. next year," Stevie sighed.

Allen leaned in close, his cold brown eyes boring into his son's. "See that you do. Thus far, you haven't proven yourself worthy of the Mack name. Mediocre grades, mediocre skills, a _scandal_ under your belt… your lack of caring is starting to concern me. Why do you think I always have to double check your self-presentation before you go out in public?"

Stevie tensed, a familiar rush of anger coiling around his stomach. "All right, I get it. I'll try harder to be your poster boy."

"You're almost finished with your school years, and you haven't demonstrated any ambition or knack for leadership. To survive in this Vault, you have to be a leader. You have to be respected. When was the last time anyone counted on you for anything?"

The typical lecture wound around him, cutting, constricting, in its acerbic quality. "Dad, I'm fifteen. No one counts on people my age for anything."

"Nonsense. It's never too early to learn responsibility," Allen scolded. "Your mother and I won't be around forever. I'm trying to get you to stand on your own two feet so you will succeed in life. Especially after what happened. I'm harsh because that's my duty as your father."

At that moment, Wally strode into the room, face set in a neutral expression as he finished slinging his backpack over his shoulders. He looked as sleepy as Stevie felt, but a certain focus remained constant in his dark eyes. Although only six years old, he demonstrated effortless perception in his daily interactions. This was a boy gifted with natural intellect and potential.

And both Stevie and Allen knew it.

"If you don't step up, your brother will," Allen murmured to his oldest son. "In fact, given the contrast between you two, it's possible that he's already surpassed you."

Stevie pressed his lips together and bit his tongue, refusing to justify that with an answer. Instead, he ducked his head and ushered Wally out the door. Allen's sermons had become relentless. His disparagement, even worse.

Several other families accompanied their young children on their first day of school. Voices rang through the metal walls as people left their apartments, breathing more life than usual to the corridors of the Vault. Stevie stuffed his hands into his pockets as he joined the general direction of body traffic, the bustle a welcome distraction from the turmoil of his thoughts.

"What were you and Dad talking about?" Wally asked in a vaguely disinterested tone as he set the pace for their trek.

Stevie gritted his teeth, but slowed down to match his brother's shorter strides. "Nothing."

"Oh, okay." Succinct, apathetic, and knowing. The question had been asked only as a courtesy.

They followed the route to the classroom for Wally's age group, exchanging standard greetings with other residents. Stevie noticed how the adults tended to dismiss him during social interactions these days. He watched as Mary Kendall passed by with her daughter Christine, saying hello to Wally, but giving Stevie a mere nod. He wished he could say he had gotten used to it, but the passive ostracism still stung.

By the time they rounded the corner to pass the cafeteria, he had retreated into himself, tired and sulking.

"Stevie!" Edwin Brotch called, breaking away from the long breakfast line to head toward them. "You're early this morning. Got time to grab some food?"

"I gotta drop off this squirt first," Stevie replied as he poked Wally's head, which elicited no reaction.

"All right, I'll go with you," his friend said, scratching at the acne over the dark skin of his face. "The morning rush beat me to the line, anyway. Standing around and waiting on an empty stomach is a pain."

They discussed their homework assignment from the previous night as they walked, a topic that only amplified Stevie's weariness. His stomach tightened a bit when they strode past the clinic, but by the time they finally reached Wally's classroom, he found himself yawning again.

"Well… here you are, Wally," Stevie declared, rubbing his heavy eyelids as he grumbled about having to roll out of bed for this escort task.

His brother ventured forth without hesitation. "Bye, Stevie."

Suddenly, Edwin began tugging on his sleeve. "Come on, man, let's get to the cafeteria before—"

"Edwin!" the teacher, his father, barked from the front of the classroom. The two bickered for a bit before the older Brotch remarked, "Well, since you're here, I do have some things I need you to deliver to your instructor. Hang on a minute."

Stevie sympathized with Edwin's exasperated sigh. They loitered next to the entrance of the classroom, taking turns complaining about adults and how much they sucked. The activity in the area increased as the last of the children arrived with their harrowed and clearly late-for-work parents. Mr. Brotch approached the teens, carrying a large stack of files that he hoisted into Edwin's arms.

"Jeez, Dad, what is all this, anyway?" Edwin griped, grunting as he struggled to balance the stack.

"I'm told your teacher is running out of detention slips," Mr. Brotch told him flatly. "Come back once you give those to her. I also have a bunch of mandatory study hall sheets for delivery."

"Oh, I can take those," Stevie offered. "Just so Edwin won't have to make two trips."

Mr. Brotch gave him a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "No, that's all right."

And with that, he turned around to stalk back into the classroom. No expression of gratitude. No explanation.

 _The rest of the individuals involved are not going to let it die down so easily,_ Allen's voice echoed. _When was the last time anyone counted on you for anything?_

Stevie pressed his lips into a straight line as he tried to dismiss his father's words.

"Well, let's get going. My arms are about to fall off," Edwin muttered, already swiveling around to head back down the hall.

Stevie frowned and prepared to follow him, but the view of a white lab coat caught his eye. He stepped to the side when James Ashburn, the Vault physician, appeared from around the corner and stopped at the classroom's doorway. And there, holding tight onto his leg, quivered a little girl with bright auburn hair.

Stevie paused when she turned her face away from the classroom, inadvertently locking eyes with him. The hazel quality of her irises captured his gaze, and he stood rooted in place as he stared down at her, observing the way the light seemed to change their color. She blinked at him and then buried her left cheek into her father's trouser leg, looking shy as she peered at Stevie. Her left hand gripped an apple, and her messy pigtails coupled with her bashful expression gave her a sweet appearance.

He remembered himself and started backing away when Dr. Ashburn crouched down and pried her from his limb.

"You'll do great in school, sweetheart," the physician told her, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "I'll be here when your class is finished, Ivy. I promise."

Stevie turned around and ambled down the corridor, his forehead creasing as her hazel eyes persisted in his mind.

 _Ivy, huh? Cute kid._

x-x-x-x-x

 **(2264)**

He cringed at the expression on his father's face upon seeing the results of his G.O.A.T. exam.

"…Vault loyalty inspector? So you're about to embark on a career of fiddling with locks and reporting rude things people say about the Overseer?" Allen demanded, crumpling the paper in his hands. Pinning his son with an accusing glare, he barked, "That isn't good enough. When will you learn?"

"Look, I didn't _ask_ for that job, but if that's what the G.O.A.T. says—"

"How is anyone going to take you seriously if your vocation consists of being a professional snoop? You won't have any advancement options, and this isn't a track that offers a supervising position. I'm going to speak to Alphonse about letting you take the exam again."

Stevie issued a frustrated noise and kicked the leg of the coffee table in front of him. "I don't _want_ to take it again. I don't _want_ to have to live up to your expectations. Can't you just be happy that I'm at least not a complete failure like some other people? The DeLorias, for example?"

Allen rose from his seat on the sofa, towering over him. "If you're not the best, you might as well be on their level," he snapped. "And watch that temper, young man. Don't you dare forget everything I've done for you in your endless journey of fuck-ups."

Stevie seethed on the spot, but refrained from arguing further. He jumped to his feet and stomped to the front door of the apartment, ignoring his father's order to sit back down. Making his way outside, he rushed through the upper residential corridor and down the stairs to the lower level. A heavy heart pounded beneath his sternum as he eventually slowed his pace, every ounce of self-loathing and worthlessness crawling through his midsection.

It was no use. He would never be good enough. He had messed up too much. Most people skirted around him as if he carried an incurable viral plague. His peers had no clue, but even two years after the fact, the adults still remembered. He could blame his father, he could blame himself, or he could blame…

His steps came to a halt when he realized he had wandered all the way to the clinic. The clamor of voices inside told him Dr. Ashburn was still on duty and receiving patients. Stevie ducked into the empty classroom next door to avoid detection, glad for the slow Saturday evening.

"I don't need no fuckin' zinc tablets, ya crackpot shitty doc," Hank DeLoria's distinctive voice shouted from the clinic. "Some goddamn liver disease or whatever ya called it ain't gonna put me down. And I'll keep drinkin' whatever the fuck I want!"

"Mr. DeLoria, I'm trying to keep doctor-patient confidentiality here, but that really flies out the window when you holler about your condition loud enough to ring through the halls," came Dr. Ashburn's stern tone. "Even if you insist on drinking yourself to death, as your doctor, I must insist that you realize the idiocy of that decision."

"You shut the fuck up! As long as my son doesn't find out about the disease, I don't give a shit what happens to me. He don't need to know his loser of an old man might be passin' on some fucked up genetics to him. He'll spend his life mopin' instead of living. Promise you won't tell anyone!"

"I already swore I would say nothing, but you're doing a grand job informing the entire Vault yourself. Please keep your voice down."

Stevie had lost interest halfway through the exchange, instead tuning them out and taking a seat on the stool in the corner reserved for the younger students' timeouts. He kicked a little paper dunce cap out of the way and leaned the back of his head against the wall, gazing through the dimness at the dark ceiling. A strong inclination surfaced after a while, and as the minutes passed, he gave in to it.

Accessing his Pip-Boy, he scrolled through the interface and delved deep into the hidden files until he found the picture.

An image of a woman appeared on the screen. Late thirties, long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a radiant smile. Her high cheekbones defined her slender face, and the prim and proper set of her features disguised the true predator within. Her image beamed up at him, taunting, mesmerizing.

Cecily Wolfe, Officer Wolfe's wife. Vault-wide bombshell. Comatose for two years.

Stevie's expression broke as his chest clenched. Bringing the Pip-Boy up to his face, he pressed his lips to hers in the picture, remembering exactly how they felt in real life.

 _Never could stay mad at you, Cess. You're lying ten yards away, but I miss you. No one'll ever love me like you did._

x-x-x-x-x

"Get back here, nosebleed!" a bratty voice yelled out.

Stevie glanced up from the old film playing in the rec room, spotting a group of youngsters fly past the doorway. The flash of auburn hair drew his attention, and he told Edwin he would be right back as he stood from the community couch and marched to the exit. The stampede echoed down the corridor to the right, and he followed the sounds of the chase as curiosity beckoned.

Wally's voice joined in during the ruckus, and Stevie had to question his brother's choice of friends as Butch DeLoria's maniacal laugh filled the hall. Their troublemaking activities had become well-known throughout the Vault as well, with their usual target identified as a certain hazel-eyed child. The pursuit lasted another five minutes, and when Stevie nearly caught up, he saw the little girl named Ivy dart into the cigar lounge.

Over a year had passed since he'd first laid eyes on her, but every glimpse he'd had of her since then stuck in his mind. He paused a distance away from the cigar lounge, listening to the group scampering back and forth across the adjacent corridor, evidently having lost their quarry. Once they sprinted around the corner and caught sight of him, all three boys skidded to a stop.

"Stevie, have you seen an ugly girl anywhere around?" Wally asked him, out of breath.

"That's not a very nice thing to say about your friend here," Stevie replied, gesturing to Butch.

"Shut up, butthead!" the DeLoria boy snarled. "Just you wait till I get bigger! I'll kick your ass!"

Stevie smirked at the childish outrage. _As if the son of a pair of drunkards could take me on._ "In your dreams, kid."

"Guys, c'mon, I think she went this way," Paul Hannon, Jr., the most agreeable of the group, stated as he broke into a run toward the other end of the corridor.

The others dashed after him, leaving Stevie alone in the ensuing silence.

Spinning around, he approached the cigar lounge and opened the door to step inside. The congested, smoky atmosphere hit him at once, and he coughed a few times as he waved at the air in front of him. The space appeared empty of other people, but he picked up on a faint gasping noise from beneath one of the couches. Eyebrows drawing together, he padded over to it and dropped to the floor to peek under.

Ivy lay curled on her side, small enough to fit her entire body under the piece of furniture. She barely noticed his presence, lashes lowering as her eyes closed. Her lips had parted to try to suck in more oxygen, but her face took on a weak and sickly quality as the cigar smoke invaded her lungs.

"Hey, you okay?" Stevie inquired, inching closer.

"S-smoke," she rasped, blindly reaching out. "Can't… breathe…"

Concerned, Stevie grasped her hand and pulled her out. He then scrambled to his feet and picked up her half-conscious form, holding her tight against him as he hurried back outside. She weighed little more than a feather, and her tangled hair brushed over his chin when he tucked her head into his shoulder. As fast as he could without jostling her too much, he made his way to the clinic on the next level.

Dr. Ashburn looked up when Stevie entered the premises, and he hopped from his seat, almost leaping over his desk when his saw his daughter.

"What happened? Ivy? Ivy, are you all right?"

"I found her in the cigar lounge," Stevie explained as he handed the girl over to her father. "She was hiding from some bullies."

Dr. Ashburn's forehead knitted in concern, but he gave Stevie a grateful nod. "Thank you for bringing her here. I'll take care of her."

Stevie took that as his cue to leave, but a small whimper stopped him.

"Wait," Ivy said, still out of it as her fingers reached for him again. "Stay."

Stevie shifted his gaze to Dr. Ashburn, who told him he could wait around if he wished. He agreed, purposely avoiding glancing at the closed in-patient wing as he followed the doctor to one of the medical beds at the far end of the clinic. Sitting in one of the bedside chairs, he watched as Dr. Ashburn unzipped the neck of Ivy's jumpsuit and prepared some cold compresses for her forehead.

A half hour later, she had regained enough lucidity to turn to Stevie and smile. "You saved me."

He tried to reject the notion, but found himself smiling back at her instead. "You just looked like you needed some help. Feeling better?"

"Uh huh. I'm Ivy."

"I know. I'm Stevie."

"I like you," she stated, open and frank. "You're nice to me."

Stevie was unsure how to respond to that, and his eyes flickered to Dr. Ashburn's busy figure at the terminal across the clinic. "Yeah, well… people should be nice to pretty girls like you."

Ivy beamed at him. "You're the first person besides Daddy and Jonas to say that. Thanks."

He had to chuckle at her delight over a simple compliment. "Well, I should get going, but if you need me to rescue you again or put those punk boys in their place, you let me know."

"Okay. I'm glad I can count on you."

Stevie paused and then grinned as he stood to leave.

For the first time in years, a flood of genuine warmth filled his chest.

x-x-x-x-x

 **A/N:** This piece has been a long time coming; I started planning it even before I finished "Serpent Code." Something I regretted about the main story was the fact that I didn't flesh out Stevie's character enough to explain _why_ he was the way he was as the antagonist. Writing him off as "just crazy obsessive," never sufficed for me, and I'm finally getting around to revealing the events that shaped and twisted him into the man he had become. Don't get me wrong, he's still a sadistic, evil piece of shit, but at least now we can see what led to that heinous personality. With that said, this is going to depict glimpses of his controversial relationship with Ivy when she was a minor. It's not written as a romance, and it's not glorifying adult-teen coercive relationships. This man is a sick, disturbed individual, and I'm going to show you why.


End file.
